Missionary Position
by nursehelena
Summary: Missionaries Charles and Pickles, from the Church of the Black Klok, are obligated to help out any of the people whose doors they knock on for religious solicitation. They knock on Murderface's, where he's busy directing a porno. AU.


"Oooh, ja. . .looks at how ums. . .ginormsmisk you ams. Uhh, I don'ts t'ink you would fitsk?"

"Yeah well I brought your pizza to the door from my car so—and I'm told by my boss you wanted extra—uhhhh. . ." Nathan's growl tapered off as he adjusted the plain trucker hat with 'PIZZA' handwritten across it in block letters. "Extra sausage. Go. It's your turn. Say your line."

"I haves been so incrudskiplys lonely and horny since my lover—who ams de generals for de invadingsk army, and hads his dick blowns off in battle—haven'ts been ables to pleaske me. Dis all starteds in eighteens-sixty-four, ins Richkmond, Virginia—I'm sorries, I t'ink I fucks dat up. Can we starts over?"

Nathan sighed in frustration and threw his prop box on the floor. "Get it fucking right this time Skwisgaar, I'm getting lightheaded from having a boner for so long."

"Why don'ts you takes five on de Viagra?" Skwisgaar wrapped his robe tighter, somehow looking down his nose at the bulky delivery man despite laying on the couch. "Where ams my personals asskisstant? Toki! I needs more lube!"

"Comings!" The dirty, barely-of-age teenager leapt up from his corner. A large grin preceded the bottle's emergence from his fanny pack. He more than anyone else sweat underneath the lights. "Dids you needs a dildos too, to make sure you's ready?"

"Huh, mights as well. T'anks you." The black, veiny phallus changed hands and disappeared under the blond's robe. His nose and brow wrinkled in concentration, then his tongue poked out with its admission. "I don'ts underskand why we haves dis Civil War subplot. Can'ts we just gets dis over wit' insteads of making it all story-heavy? You know whoever buys dis DVD am just goings to fask-forwards t'rough."

"And since when did people get pizza delivered to them in medieval times?" Nathan dropped onto the other end of the couch. "Murderface, this porno doesn't make any fucking sense."

"It'sch not medieval timesch, it'sch the eighteen-hundredsch!" The writer-slash-producer snapped from his seat. "And who caresch if there wasch no pizza back then? Juscht go with the flow, bro."

"I'm not an actor. This is bullshit, just let me fuck Skwisgaar, get my paycheck, and leave."

"Need I remind you," Murderface loudly stated, "that thisch _ischn't_ juscht a porno? Thisch isch _art_, okay? Wrap your headsch around it, dicksch. Maybe if you weren't in a medieval timesch frame of mind, Schkwischgaar would quit fucking up hisch linesch."

"Hey, screws you, you Ron Jeremysk look-alike! I does porno so dats I don'ts have to goes to college and learns about dis craps. You t'ink I cares about dis stupids war? No, I don'ts!"

"If you'd quit schcrewing up, we'd be ready for you guysch to fuck. Now try it again from the top, and schay it right thisch time! It waschn't in Rischmond, Virginia, and it waschn't eighteen-schixty-four yet. It wasch eighteen-schixty-_one_, in Scharleschton Bay. Your lover wasch a Union scholdier, and Nathan, you're Confederate. Get it through your thick schkull."

"Does this mean I have to knock, again? And what about my monologue?"

"It'sch a schililoquoy. Learn the differensche." Murderface knocked the string bean working the camera on his way to the door. "You know what, I'm going to put the hosche on mischt mode and make it look like it'sch raining. Pathetic fallaschy might be our schaving grasche, here."

"Actually getting two dudes fucking on tape might be our saving grace," Nathan grumbled.

With them on the other side of the door, the director got Skwisgaar's attention. "Try speaking a little clearer. I'm having a hard time understanding what you're saying."

"Likes what?"

"Like the words. . ."

"Toki, here. Takes dis and goes wash it off." Skwisgaar held the dildo out to him, then shook it with wide, impatient eyes when his assistant hesitated. "I hasn'ts eaten in overs twenty-four hour, you t'ink dere am anyt'ing but lubes on it? Hurry ups, we abouts to start again!"

* * *

Blue skies in mid-summer equated to aggravated air waxing off the concrete. As much as heat struck laziness into the hearts of men, Elders Pickles and Charles couldn't retreat indoors. They'd just had five doors in a row slammed in their faces, in attempt to complete God's work. Well, actually, it was the Church's, but God's by proxy.

"Do ya think it's the heat?" Pickles wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "Or jest the neighbourhood? Maybe people here ain't thet keen on God."

"Then that's for us to change." Sweat beaded on Charles' nose, and his meticulously combed hair frizzed in places. He pushed his glasses back up. "We'll have to come back another time."

"Yeeuh." The redhead consulted his roughly drawn map of the area. "Let's make this last place where we stahp. I'm gonna collapse if I don' get some food 'n' water soon."

"I think that's reasonable." The stoop that they approached looked dangerous; the wood rotted through in places, and a puddle of water sat beside an abandoned hose in front of the entrance. Dismissing that as result of crystal meth addicted renters, Pickles opened the screen and rapped his knuckles against the sun-bleached door. No dogs sounded from inside, which was always nice. He'd almost lost a finger already today, thanks to a mangy doberman.

The face that appeared when the door's chain reached its limit challenged that assertion; a wide, flat nose and lime green eyes peered back at the missionaries. Pickles cleared his throat before this man too could reject his faith. "Hello, friend! My name's Pickles, and this is Charles. We're here from the Church of the Black Klok. Would ya mind if we took a couple minutes of yer time?"

"Schoundsch lame. Not intereschted."

"Thet's jest fine, maybe we kin change yer mind. Have ya ever bin to our website?"

The man eyed the card Pickles held out, not moving to take it. "No. Look, I'm kinda buschy. Do you mind?"

"Naht at all. We kin come back another time. When would be good fer you?"

"Uhh, posschibly never. Look, I'm gonna level with ya. I hate it when you religiousch weirdosch come around, becausche you're scho perschischtent, and I don't think you're lischtening when I schay I'm not intereschted."

Switching from one approach to another, Pickles' gaze peered over the man's unkempt, triangle hair. "Whet're ya busy with? Any way we kin help?"

"I'm making a movie. I've got about a million schcript problemsch, and don't get me schtarted on the—" The man's eyes widened. "Actually, maybe you _can_ help. Wait here a schec."

The door snapped shut, then whispering came from inside. Pickles and Charles looked at each other, shrugged, then perked again as the chain slid out from its brace. When the living room was revealed, so were four more people as well as the equipment necessary for the work claimed being done. "I don't think I properly introdusched myself. Name'sch Murderfasche. Come on in."

All the fans running barely compensated for lack of air conditioning. Pickles nodded in greeting at the owlish occupants; one guy fiddled with the camera, and the other three squished together on the couch. The largest guy, with a homemade hat citing Pizza, took up most of the furniture. Like everyone else, the missionary ignored presence of a boner. The kid sitting next to him had pit stains nearly down to his waist, and his homemade hat rested upon short, greasy brown hair. The last, a blond, maintained an air of dignity despite only wearing a robe.

"Take a scheat," Murderface waved toward the loveseat opposite the others. He pushed the guy behind the camera, wordlessly commanding that all the lights be turned to face Pickles and Charles as they took up the invitation.

Charles shaded his eyes and Pickles blinked under the bright lights. "Heey, whet's goin' on here, Chief?"

"You schaid you wanted to help." Murderface shrugged. "I'm juscht going to aschk you a couple queschtionsch. What're your namesch, again?"

"Pickles."

"Ah, Elder Offdensen. We belong to the Church of the Black Klok."

"And how old are you guysch?"

"Nineteen," they both answered.

"Exschellent, exschellent. . .would you mind telling usch about your church'sch schtansche on schex?"

"Uhh. . ." One of Pickles' eyebrows rose. "Ya don' do it before marriage. Is thet whet you mean?"

"Schure. And what about gay schex?"

"It's a sin." Charles folded his hands in his lap. "Just what exactly is going on here? Why are you recording this?"

"You schaid you wanted to help me out, scho that'sch what you're doing. Would it be fair to schay then, that you two are virginsch?"

While Charles huffed, Pickles rubbed his elbow. Before the brunet could open his mouth to either inquire or chastise, Pickles cut him off. "You don' say a werd about it, 'n' we won't talhk about you gettin' an erection when he mentioned gay sex!"

"I don't have a—!" Blood blossomed in Charles' cheeks when the others in the room tittered with laughter. "Pickles, we should leave. You know what this is, don't you? They're making a _crude_ film. Look, that guy over there's had an erection since we first arrived!"

Nathan grumbled. "Try _not_ to, after popping three blue ones."

"Dood, how would you know whet kind of movie they're makin'? You seen'm before?" Pickles grinned crookedly when Charles failed to answer. "Heh, when did you ever manage to watch porn? I've bin tryin' to sneak some fer ferever! Quit actin' so scandalized, Gahd. Heey, Chief," the redhead addressed Murderface, "yeeuh, I'm a virgin. Please make this hell end today."

"Pickles, _don't_," Charles implored. "We have to resist the temptation. We'll get in so much trouble—"

"Live a little, grandma," Murderface stated from behind the camera. "All right Picklesch, what do you feel comfortable doing?"

"Well, I always thaught—dood, _quiddit_." The redhead snatched his arm out of Charles' grip. "You gaht a boner too, so he's right. Live a little! After all the torture they put us through back north—naht even bein' allowed alone in the bathroom, in case we jacked off!—you gahtta admit thet we deserve a little somm-somm."

"God's _still_ watching us," Charles reminded him.

"Dood, you think the guy would throw us into a place like this widdout intention? He _wants_ us to get laid!"

"Maybe He's testing us!"

"You know whet, you kin do whetever you want. I'm goin' alahng widdis. You say _anything_ to anyone though, 'n' I'm gonna tell'm about yer boner." Pickles pointed at it. "You gaht good lighting on this, Murderface? Kin you see it?"

"Plain asch day."

"I ain't gonna make ya do somethin' you don' wanna, 'n' you kin wait outside if you like. _I'm_ gettin' laid, though."

"There'sch schandwichesch made in the kitchen, if you're hungry," Murderface offered.

"Cool." Pickles rubbed his hands together. "So whet're we doin'? Whet's the porno about?"

Skwisgaar and Nathan both groaned, earning a dirty look from Murderface. "It _wasch_ about the Schivil War, but I think we can schelf that for another time. I'll juscht let the camera roll. Hey Robot, you in or out?"

"Uhh. . ." All the colour in Charles' face vanished.

"Dood." Pickles nudged him. "Jest stick wid me. You don' gahtta werry about gettin' stuck if you don' wanna. We kin do whetever. Yer kinda cute, heh."

"I can't even believe right now that you're a messenger of God."

"Heh. Why'd'you think my parents made me get more involved in this crep?"

"You're embarrassing our faith!"

"And you're embarrassing yer boner. C'mon, live a bit."

"This is an involuntary response."

Murderface butt in again. "You don't have to schuck anyone off or get fucked, geezsch. Want schomeone to schuck your dick? Schkwischgaar, how ya feelin' over there, bro?"

"Hornys and readies to get fucked. Starvings. Cans we gets dis over wit', yet?"

"Schorry, he'sch a bit cranky. On hisch period, and all."

"Hey, fucks you!"

"I. . ." Charles tugged on his collar. "I would be more comfortable, ah. . .with someone I know."

"Cool." Murderface pressed against the eyepiece and fiddled a knob or two. "Now kissch."

"Hey, what about me?" The director moped over by the door, further stalling production.

"Who caresch? Get out of here. You're fired."

"Fired," he repeated in a dazed tone. "Do I still get paid?"

"No. Go kill yourschelf. Idiot."

With him gone, the audience shrunk. Charles, who hadn't kissed _anyone_ in his nineteen years, broke out into a cold sweat as his redheaded associate rested a hand on his thigh. "We have to do this on camera?"

"Do you have any idea how _rare_ it isch, for genuine virginsch in the porn buschinessch?" Murderface asked. "Go on. Do it now."

"It ain't thet big a deal." Pickles pressed his lips chastely against Charles'. "See? The only reason you think this kind of crep is a big deal is because it's always bin made out thet way. Jest take a chill pill, 'n'—oh, do we actually have anything like thet? He might benefit from it."

"Oh! I probablies got something in here!" Toki dug around in his fanny pack. "Ja, I gets you some water. Pickle, you wants anything to drink while I's in the kitchen?"

"Ams you _deir_ porsonal asskisstant, or mines?" Skwisgaar asked, arms tightly crossed. "Gets me a beer while you dere."

"Murderface, you think that while he's waiting for the pills to kick in, I could take care of this?" Nathan gestured at his boner. "We've already got all the lines down for _Harleton Gay_, might as well just film us fucking and kill two birds with one stone."

"Thisch isch going to be amazing!" Murderface proclaimed. "Two pornosch in one day, marketable to schuch vascht audiencesch! I'm going to be rich! And famousch! Toki, get you assch back in here and help me turn thesche lightsch back around!"

"Huh, guess if dis show am finallies hitting de road, den I don'ts got time for dis." Skwisgaar rewrapped his robe as he traversed the room, handing the bottle to Pickles. Behind him, Nathan shed his shirt and started on his pants. "Here, you amn'ts twenty-one yet, but who care, ja?"

"Heh, you think I never drank before?" Pickles lifted the smoking bottle to his lips. "Thanks, dood."

"Okay, let'sch go over thisch," Murderface addressed Nathan. "Schtart off schlow, then you can plough him. Schound good?"

"I only go at one speed." Nathan's cock twitched as Skwisgaar disrobed and positioned himself on all fours, on the couch. To avoid a potential burn, he grabbed the cotton article and draped it over the armrest. "You ready? Tell me when, Murderface."

"Holds on, before you starts filming, let's make shore I'ms stretched enough. Cans you fit?"

"Oh my God." Charles covered his eyes as Nathan and Skwisgaar tested it out. A pair of chuckles sounded beside him as Toki and Pickles sipped their respective drinks.

"Dood," Pickles said, "whet're you so werked up for? It ain't even like they're _rilly_ havin' sex. It's all fer show. Look."

It took some courage, especially once the clapping sound of flesh preceded groans and guttural grunts, but eventually Charles peeled his hand off his glasses. He needed to wipe them clean of his hand's oils before he could even take in what happened across the way. It didn't matter if Nathan and Skwisgaar didn't engage in humanity's most sacred act. He shifted where he sat all over again and his mouth grew dry despite the water he just drank. "Why do they do it, if they're not even enjoying it?"

"Oh, they's enjoyings it," Toki chirped. "Is just thats the cameras get put befores that, so cans be kind of annoying sometimes. Is a job, otherwise."

"Some job."

"Hey, the pay's prettys good and looks what they gets paid to do." Toki lowered his voice when Murderface pressed his fingers against his lips. "Somedays I wouldn'ts mind to does the same, but Skwisgaar says thats my butt's too bonies to be fucked and I's not hung like Nathan. I guess I cans admit that true. . ."

"Don't—don't be gettin' down on yerself," Pickles assured the younger teen. "Jest because ya ain't hung like a horse don' mean ya can't do _somethin'_."

"Maybe somesday. Moidaface got some S&M stuffs coming ups that I wouldn'ts mind auditioning for." Toki rubbed his hands together, gleeful glint in his eye. "Maybes I'll gets to whip the shits out of someone, thats would be so cool!"

Charles reeled again, but for a different reason. The thought of someone prostrate at his feet _really_ appealed to him. Here, he felt free to entertain that without connotation of a sinner.

"How're ya feelin'?" Pickles asked when Toki was needed on set to towel the actors off between position shifts. His hand rested again on Charles' knee.

"Better, I think?" Charles cleared his throat. "Ah. . .still a little nervous. You sure you want to do this on camera? What're we even going to do?"

"Dunno, whedeya feel like? I could blow ya."

"This is all so crazy."

"Yeeuh, maybe a bit. Whet're you, the voice of reason, or somethin'?" Pickles tapped him with the back of his hand. "Heey, come wid me a minute."

Across the room, Nathan held Skwisgaar's head up by a fistful of blond hair as every muscle in his body exerted itself. He bared his teeth, an. . .interesting sight for someone that couldn't believe how his afternoon wound up. A wail following Pickles and Charles into the kitchen could mean pain or pleasure. Maybe it was both. Either way, Charles tugged his collar again as he and Pickles stood alone.

"Whether you've teeken a Valium or naht, ya gahtta loosen up." For starters, Pickles undid the other teen's tie. His nametag hit the table next. "Ya sher ya don' wanna do this?"

"I. . .don't know, this is all so sudden. The camera is maybe a little bit too much."

"Ya keep talkin' about the camera, but ya ain't said nothin' about screwin' around wid a dood."

"Well." Charles cleared his throat. "This is a bit sudden too, but we can't exactly go back now that we've crossed the line, have we?"

"Depends. We kin get outta here 'n' never bring it up again, if you don' want. We kin get back to the Church, tell'm we didn' get no bites, 'n' sign out fer the day."

"I'm not so sure about that, either. I think it's in our best interest to get out of here, but. . ."

Pickles smiled and leaned up to peck his lips again. "We don' gahtta let _everything_ fall to the wayside."

"Maybe it's just this place. Or the pill. I don't know." Charles sighed. "How're we going to work together, after this?"

"Prahbly a lot easier, if you're thinkin' whet I'm thinkin'."

The noise and movement from the other room, steadily building, came to an end with a lapse in Nathan's rhythm. He continued to hold Skwisgaar's head to the couch, a couple slow thrusts tapering him off.

"That'sch a wrap!" Murderface announced. While Toki handed towels and clothes to each of the spent actors, then took to brushing the knots out of Skwisgaar's hair upon command, the director sought out the missionaries in the other room. "Ready when you are."

"We ain't gonna do it."

"Exschcusche—?" Lime green eyes narrowed with disappointment. "You schure?"

"Yeeuh. We talked about it. We'd rather naht, on camera. Ya knoow."

"Damn it. Well, hold on, before you go!" Murderface grabbed a sheet of paper and pen off the counter. "If you change your mind, thisch isch how you can get hold of me. Scheriouschly conschider it, all right dildos?"

"Heh." Pickles pocketed the number, changing it out with one of the cards he'd flashed at Murderface earlier. "'N' maybe, in tern, you kin go check out our church's website."

"You know, if your chursch isch asch cool asch you guysch, maybe I will."

"Aw, ares you guys leaving?" Toki looked up from his chore when Murderface walked Pickles and Charles to the door. "I thoughts you was gonna fuck and maybes pal around with us all afters!"

"Maybe another time, little dood. Theenks fer entertainin' us."

"Huh. Figureds dey would chickens out," was difficult to make out through Skwisgaar's mouthful of sandwich. Aside from his knotted strands, he'd already regained his composure from before his stint with Nathan. "Comes back if you evers want to learns how to be _reals_ men."

"Now that we've got all that on video, I can schtart editing and get the basschlinesch down. . ."

Back out under the hot sun, Pickles and Charles carried on down the street. Adjustment to willing away erections worked wonders in Charles' case, even if the undercarriage ached a bit. Pickles himself grinned crookedly with his hands in his pockets.

"I can't believe that just happened."

"Heh. Dood, say all you want. Thet was the only interest we had all day in our faith."


End file.
